


Choice

by Fyre



Series: A Little Kindness [23]
Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett, Slow Show - mia_ugly
Genre: Alternative Perspective, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-23
Updated: 2020-03-23
Packaged: 2021-02-28 16:35:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23280310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fyre/pseuds/Fyre
Summary: In the days that followed, that was all Avery could remember from the shoot. He knew it had continued, knew there was softer lights and more approving words from Kris and all he could hold onto were the words that had swept his feet from under him.I’m with you.
Relationships: Anthony J. Crowley/Avery Fell (Slow Show)
Series: A Little Kindness [23]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1628107
Comments: 50
Kudos: 172





	Choice

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mia_ugly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mia_ugly/gifts).



Agreeing to the photoshoot was a terrible decision.

It was…

There were…

Avery ran his trembling hands over his face. The world was _better_. It _was_. He could be happy and in love and all sorts of things, but when the bulbs flashed, he could remember a rock, blood on his skin, newspapers splashed with Anthony’s face and name and tearing him to pieces.

Flash. They’ll say what they think. Flash. This is how they see you. Like those comments on twitter. Like those awful, awful protesters who showed up at one of the screenings. Like bitter, horrid, hateful words wrapping around his throat and pushing him back into the dark and shadows.

Beez insisted it was good press and he had been excited to stand with Crowley. Out and proud. But it was one thing to agree over the telephone in the comfort of his lover’s embrace. It was another to have the flash-flash-flash of the cameras, remembering what a camera, an article, a misstep could do to either – both – of them.

Just photos. That’s all it was. A simple photograph. He could do that. Smile and pretend that the ghosts of decades weren’t winding their way up around his spine, turning it stiff with dread and fear and the echo of shouts and derision that would never quiet.

A tap at the door behind him almost made him jump out of his skin. He swiped his fingers under his eyes, took a breath, and gathered himself. Acting, after all. He was rather good at it.

Anthony was there, that worried gentle look all over his face. He was carrying a mug. Where on earth did he get a mug?

“I didn’t ask for–” he began, puzzled.

“It nice to have someone make it for you, right? Sometimes.”

A different kind of echo, a gentle one, one of tea and comfort, a beginning and Avery’s heart leapt into his throat and he loved him, he loved him everso much. He wrapped the knowledge around him like a mantle, took the cup and beckoned Crowley in.

“I’m ruining this,” he admitted unhappily, this one simple thing he has to do: show how happy and proud and in love he is. It should have been easy. It _should._ “I can’t– I shouldn’t have agreed to it.”

Crowley’s face creased up in that way, the way that says he knew, he understood and he did. Of course he did. “Hey, it’s not as bad as that–”

“It is!” Avery disagreed, taking a shaking breath. “I can feel myself over-thinking everything, freezing up. And I can hear all those horrible, horrible things that people have said about us and–” And the words stuck in his throat, catching and he hated that he cared what anyone else thinks, hated that he was afraid of them even now, even when he’s _happy_. And he wanted to cry and scream and rage and he can’t even do that. “They’ll see this cover and they’ll say those things again, and I don’t think–”

Crowley’s hands were suddenly around his, warm and sure. “Az,” he said, taking the cup from his hands. Probably wise. He was about to slosh it everywhere. Crowley set it down on the table and sat back against the table, leaning against the mirror. No judgement, only understanding. “We can walk if you want.” A crooked smile curled one side of his mouth. “Beez will probably murder us both, but it’s a matter of time before they try to do that anyway.” He met Avery’s eyes, gentle and reassuring. “You want to shut it down, say the word.” He smiled and nodded. “I’m with you.”

In the days that followed, that was all Avery could remember from the shoot. He knew it had continued, knew there was softer lights and more approving words from Kris and all he could hold onto were the words that had swept his feet from under him.

 _I’m with you_.

So simple.

No grand declaration, no trumpeting from the roof tops, and yet it had slid under his guard, a master stroke right between his ribs and into his heart.

 _I’m with you_.

He found himself lingering on them when they washed up after dinner, or when he was putting his socks on, or – on one particularly random moment – when he got stuck at the gates of the tube. Random moments. Odd moments. But always bubbling up. Important. Significant.

Eleven days later, he woke – for once – before Crowley. They had chosen sides of the bed, of course, but that never really seemed to matter when they always ended up in a tangled heap in the middle. He looked down at the mussed red head pressed against his chest, felt the press of the arm draped over him. He was snoring quietly, restful and calm and safe and _with him_.

Avery touched the crown of Crowley’s head.

That was what he wanted. That was what he had always wanted and now, he had the choice the knowledge that those were the words he wanted to be true for the rest of his life.

He stroked Crowley’s tangle of hair, smiled when sleepy honey-brown eyes squinted open. They kissed and said good mornings and had breakfast and it was all very lovely. And… and as soon as Crowley headed out to work – he was doing a brief run in the West End for a fundraiser – Avery picked up his telephone.

“Morning, pet,” Tracy answered at once. “Is this a brunch call?”

He smiled, sitting down on the edge of the couch. “Actually, I was wondering if you’d be able to come on a little shopping trip with me.”

“Shopping?” She gasped. “Who are you and what have you done with my Az?”

“Oh hush up,” he laughed. “I buy things! I buy things all the time!”

“Nothing you’d ask for my help with,” she retorted and he could hear her smile. “What are we in the market for then? Unless you’re finally going to listen to me about getting a better sofa. That one you’ve got is a pain in my–”

“A ring.”

“Arse…” Tracy sputtered. “W-wait, what?”

Lord, look at that. His hand was shaking and yet… and yet he wasn’t scared. “I’m going to propose to Anthony. I mean, if he’ll– it’s old-fashioned, I know and I don’t even know if he’d want to do anything like that, but I want to at least _ask_.”

The silence on the other end of the line was deafening.

“Trace? Are you still there?”

The wet sniffle warned him before she wailed, “Of course I’m here, you idiot! Bloody hell, Az, you’ve ruined my face! _Ruined_ it!” They both dissolved into laughter and his vision was getting suspiciously blurry as well. “Christ, and before ten o’clock in the morning as well! Have you no shame?”

“I like to keep you on your toes,” he replied, hastily scrubbing at his eyes. “So…want to help me?”

“Is water wet?” She sniffed again. “Jesus Christ. Didn’t even get my coffee yet.”

“I’ll treat you,” he said, his cheeks aching with the smile. “Compensation for my terrible callous manners.”

“You’d bloody better. I want a big bit of cake for this.”

“Obviously.” He sank back on the couch. He’d said it. He’d said the words, given the thought voice, and they were going to go and buy a _ring_. “I– Trace– thank you.”

“Oh, shut up, you great soft lump! You’ll set me off again!”

It was ridiculous, the wonderful weightless feeling spreading through him. “Sorry! Sorry!” And if he smiled any wider, his cheeks were going to pop. “Shall we say an hour, that nice little place in Covent garden?”

“Hour and a half,” she replied. “ _Someone_ ruined my face.”

He beamed stupidly at the ceiling. “I’ll see you there and then.”

“Az.”

“Yes?”

“I’m so happy for you, pet.”

“I know.” He blinked hard to clear his vision. “And I’m sorry about this.”

“What?” she inquired warily.

“That I have to tell you how much I love you too.”

The wail down the phone made him burst out into merry laughter a second before she hung up on him.

Avery sagged back against the back of the couch, exhaling a shaking sigh. He was _happy_ and if all went well, and if Crowley was happy too, maybe they could with each other permanently. Through richer and poorer and everything else.

That, Avery thought, a world of promising laughter and warmth and happiness lying within his hands, would be _lovely_.


End file.
